


Observation

by stephanericher



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-25
Updated: 2015-06-25
Packaged: 2018-04-06 01:33:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4202904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stephanericher/pseuds/stephanericher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Normal people would ask, ‘Oh, Susa, does your back hurt?’ you know,” Susa says, voice muffled by the sheets under his mouth.</p><p>Imayoshi laughs, low and soft. “Well. I reckon you might not have owned up to it.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Observation

Imayoshi always watches him, whether he’s actually observing or just trying to freak Susa out because he knows Susa can feel his eyes against his skin like the harshness of professional-grade laboratory lamps even though they’re always shut. It’s stupid and paradoxical to think about, and Susa never mentions it because what should he say? If he calls out Imayoshi then Imayoshi wins because he gets to tease Susa about thinking about him all day (because of course Imayoshi wasn’t looking, silly Susa—never mind that they’re dating and why shouldn’t Susa be thinking about him) and if he doesn’t then he’ll still have to think about it. He’d rather think about certain other things concerning Imayoshi anyway, although maybe not in the middle of practice when they have to be doing other things and when the sweat is dripping down Imayoshi’s neck, slowly streaking across the contours of skin and it’s hard enough for Susa to look away before he’s caught.

Of course, Susa hadn’t really wanted a distraction (because looking at Imayoshi is quite pleasant because when he opens his mouth it’s rarely Susa who has to go on the defensive, and honestly he’d rather defend Susa in basketball than with words—it’s less exhausting) and he certainly hadn’t wanted one in the form of this damn pain in his back that just won’t go away.

He hasn’t pulled any muscles; he’s working out in the usual way (a way that for two years and change has done nothing but strengthen his back, accentuate muscles he hadn’t known he had in middle school) and he’s not sleeping funny and he still feels a stabbing ache like a blunt knife ripping through his flesh whenever he stands or jumps a certain way. It hasn’t affected his play at least; his shots are as accurate as ever and he blocks with regularity and runs up to speed and maybe he clenches his jaw a little more and rubs his back when they’re taking breaks but they’re picking up speed and hurtling toward the winter cup and everyone’s a little bit sore. And Susa can’t feel Imayoshi’s eyes because he’s still focused on holding his back the right way so it doesn’t seize up.

It hits Susa like a pass so sharp it stings your hands that this is it; their games are numbered and they don’t know how many but how many isn’t the right phrase. It’s how few, how few minutes they have left with the soles of their sneakers slamming against the waxed wood of the courts and losing a little bit of traction each time, how few hours they have in the sweaty locker room silence changing into the familiar black and red that fits so comfortably now (more than Susa had ever expected it to), how few shots and passes and steps there are until the end. And even if they’re painful (even if his back feels like it’s going to tear it in half) he’s going to take those steps because he can’t not. This is his last shot at this kind of glory—they came so fucking close against Rakuzan and it had left him thirsting for more and maybe this kind of deprivation is what’s doing it to his back. Maybe it’s all in his head.

Susa groans and flops against his bed. In his head or no, his back still hurts and against the cheap dorm mattress it’s even more obvious. He rolls over onto his stomach, closing his eyes and stretching forward. It still feels tight, as if someone took his muscles and tied a knot in them and they’re all straining at it to be released. He can’t feel it when he presses his hand to the area; it gives as much as the rest of his back does.

The door swings open; how Imayoshi got an extra key Susa doesn’t want to know (he’s theorized that Imayoshi just stole his and took it to a locksmith to get it copied, but of course that’s far from the only explanation) and he’s glad he already took his hand off his back. The bed sags even under Imayoshi’s weight; he strokes the back of Susa’s neck and Susa shivers and then his hand comes down hard on Susa’s lower back.

“Ow!” Susa yelps, twisting away from Imayoshi and then hissing with the pain from the quick change in position before dropping back limply.

“I thought so,” says Imayoshi.

“Normal people would ask, ‘Oh, Susa, does your back hurt?’ you know,” Susa says, voice muffled by the sheets under his mouth.

Imayoshi laughs, low and soft. “Well. I reckon you might not have owned up to it.”

Susa scowls into the bed. “So?”

“So. You’re playing hurt.”

“I’m not playing badly. I’m still your second-best forward, and half of the time I’m your best. I don’t have a future to jeopardize.”

Imayoshi hums and rubs the area of Susa’s back he just hit; Susa flinches. It still fucking hurts when Imayoshi touches it, probably because Susa doesn’t know where he’s going to poke and prod next, what path his fingers are taking. And he’s poking too hard, like he’s trying to jab a hole in Susa’s skin (and knowing Imayoshi he just might be).

“You’re terrible at massage.”

“Susa, I’m insulted.”

Susa rolls over onto his side in order to properly glare at Imayoshi, who’s still mock-pouting. His back feels a little bit better like this; he can shove the aching deeper into his mind in the hopes that it gets lost like a spare pen in a messy schoolbag. Imayoshi’s pout shifts into a smirk (then again there’s not much difference in those expressions on him) and Susa shuts his eyes. Of course Imayoshi noticed. Of course he’d been watching that closely.

He doesn’t register Imayoshi’s lips on his until Imayoshi’s tongue is sliding along his teeth. And maybe this conversation was some big, irrelevant lead-in or Imayoshi’s idea of seduction, but they’re on the bed with Imayoshi’s hand halfway up Susa’s shirt and neither of them has any intention of stopping so Susa can’t really say that it didn’t work.

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this fic mainly because my back hurts.
> 
> also day 3 of song challenge ("Bronte" by Gotye) where i started at endings/susaima leaving touou and that only ended up as the most tangentially related part of this whole thing whoops


End file.
